i love your ken ficsss he's so- !!! could you maybe write something about a grumpy × sunshine trope with ken?
i feel ken would be so perfect for the grumpy × sunshine trope.... he would be so supportive and cheerful and grumpy!reader couldn't help but be happy around him but only with him!!
Grumpy x Sunshine Ken hc’s
a/n: thank you! and oh my GOD yes yes yes and just YES. as someone who is in a grumpy x sunshine relationship- just yes. this is one of my FAV tropes :) Ken fits it perfectly.
✮⋆˙ To start off, you hated Ken when you first met him.
✮⋆˙ He was loud, annoying, and way too energetic for your taste.
✮⋆˙ Ken took a liking to you the moment you arrived in Barbie Land.
✮⋆˙ He made it his goal to get you to notice and possibly even like him back. So much, that every waking moment was spent trying to impress you.
✮⋆˙ He loved that you played hard to get. (At least he hoped that’s what you were doing rather than genuinely hating him) …
✮⋆˙ “Hey… Check this out” a smirk plastered on his face as he attempted to skate backwards.
✮⋆˙ He fell. Hard. (Just like he was for you)
✮⋆˙ Your first conversation was sparked when he found you at the Park with some other Barbies.
✮⋆˙ He tried walking past you casually, but when you glanced his direction, he froze and turned to you and your friends. Goofy smile and all.
✮⋆˙ “Hey” he said, standing widely with his arms down to either side.
✮⋆˙ You rolled your eyes. “What Ken?”
✮⋆˙ His eyes widened at his own name. “You… know my name?” He said with enthusiasm.
✮⋆˙ One of your friends giggled and you tried holding back your own laugh. “You’re Ken, and so is he” you say, pointing to one of the random Ken’s across the way.
✮⋆˙ Ken followed your finger and scoffed, brows furrowing in frustration. “Well- i’m Ken Ken” He pleaded.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
✮⋆˙ The first time you smiled at Ken, he melted. Tears were involved, he hid them poorly of course.
✮⋆˙ You glanced around the two of you before reaching up to tussle his perfectly combed hair. “Oh, suck it up” you said, attempting to maintain your straight face.
✮⋆˙ It was hard not to smile at him.
✮⋆˙ He brings you gifts all the time
✮⋆˙ When another Ken is attempting to flirt with you, Ken gets extremely jealous. He will pout. A lot.
✮⋆˙ After you warm up to him, he quickly becomes the only person you have any energy for.
✮⋆˙ Other Kens no longer interest you.
✮⋆˙ He 100% continues to try and win you over even when he already has.
✮⋆˙ You are shorter than him, so this gives him the advantage. He often picks you up and randomly spins with a happy laugh.
✮⋆˙ Your nickname from him is ‘babygirl’ or ‘sweet boy’ or ‘sweetie’
✮⋆˙ He comes to all of your events/parties and supports you.
✮⋆˙ He loves being needed. If you need something reached or anything done he is ON it.
✮⋆˙ you are 100% a golden retriever black cat duo.
✮⋆˙ He is very emotional and will cry at everything while you tend to hold your feelings back until you can’t any longer.
✮⋆˙ He went from someone you ignored to someone you adore and show your soft side for.
Let me know if you’d like more Ken 🩷
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Safe space - Vanessa Shelly
Another Vanessa fic? I’m hyper-fixating atm so it’s to be expected.
In the middle of writing a Vanessa x fem!reader smut so for now you can all have another fluff one (with a tiny bit of suggestiveness). Kinda want to get these all out before my hyper-fixation on Vanessa stops but it’s probs not gonna for a while as I’m also replaying Security Breach rn.
Also sorry if this one is shit lol or doesn’t make sense half of these I write sleep deprived.
Summary: Vanessa comes home, stressed. She just wants comfort from Y/n.
This is a Vanessa x fem!reader one-shot :)
God, this might shift and patrol was stressful. Vanessa found out that her father employed another security guard...she was worried and she also had to go meet him, and check up on how he was doing.
Vanessa just wanted to sleep, which was unusual for the blonde, because she rarely could...mostly she just wanted to be at home with her girlfriend, her safe space. She was relieved when she could come home, it was four in the morning and she knew her girlfriend would be asleep.
It had been pouring it down with rain tonight and luckily Y/n convinced Vanessa to wear her long water proof coat. But that still didn't stop her much from getting her hair wet a bit, since she forgot to put the hood up.
Locking the door behind her and getting in her routine habit of checking all the rooms downstairs at home, everything was locked. Vanessa did this because she was scared that something could happen to Y/n...considering Vanessa' father is William Afton, after all. Vanessa knew he could easily use her girlfriend against her. And that's why she was scared to get too close to someone but it was too late now, it had been since she first met Y/n two years ago.
Her father hadn't threatened her with Y/n yet...but it was still a possibility if she didn't do as he asked, anymore.
Vanessa headed upstairs after putting her coat away and took off her shoes, if she didn't Y/n would have her head. Leaving her bag down stairs but she still took her gun with her, in case. Y/n had one to...because she knew what she'd gotten herself into getting close to Vanessa.
The blonde stripped off her cop uniform, and threw in an old t-shirt with lounge shorts. Taking her hair out of the pony tail and into a messy bun instead. She glanced over at Y/n who was fast asleep, as she turned the lamp on at her side of the bed.
Crawling into bed, Vanessa turned off the lamp, cuddling up to her girlfriend and wrapping an arm around her stomach, protectively. Suddenly Y/n stirred awake, turning over to face Vanessa. "Nessa, you're home" she smiled tiredly, her eyes slowly opened.
"I'm glad you're back. I missed you." Y/n' voice was a bit groggily from the fact she's still tired and just woke up. "I missed you too baby, it's been a hell of a night. But we can talk about it in the morning." Vanessa paused as she kissed the tip of Y/n' nose.
"Okay. C'mere" Y/n chuckled, tiredly. Vanessa was already so close to her as it is, until the blonde understood what Y/n was after, she closed the gap between their faces and kissed Y/n' lips. The kiss was soft and full of passion, then Y/n kissed back making it sloppy due to her tiredness.
Vanessa was so tempted to get on top of Y/n but she stayed at the side, kissing her. Knowing that if they started this now, there would be no sleep for either of them for a while. Their kiss continued, breathing heavy, Vanessa made Y/n moan into the kiss slightly when her hand squeezed her inner thigh, prompting the blonde to deepen the kiss with her tongue.
Vanessa pulled away eventually, both women's chests heaving, a strand of saliva connected until they broke apart. "As much as I'd like to continue Y/n, we need to get some rest."
Y/n chuckled "yeah you're right." Pausing to check her phone "fuck me it's four a.m."
Vanessa smirked at her girlfriend "tempting..."
Y/n rolled her eyes "cheeky. But you need rest, babe."
"Fine. Goodnight Y/n. I love you."
"I love you too Nessa" she kissed her softly, wrapping her arms around Y/n once again, feeling happy that she's in the company of her girlfriend, and that she gets to cuddle with her for the rest of the night...or early morning.
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le dôme de verre
(soft!eddie x badatfeelings!gf)
"Le premier amour est plus aimé, le reste est mieux aimé."
'The first love is loved more, the rest are loved better.'
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry - Le Petit Prince
cw: badatfeelings!gf meets up with an old ex, eddie chaperones close by. adult themes, 20+, references to abuse, borderline abusive physicality, hurt/comfort sortaaa?, angst, humans being humans. soft smut reference. personally, i ended up actually hating this but i think i looked at it for too long.
for more badatfeelings!gf click here.
He was surprised to see her in such a state when he got to her apartment. She was sat at the kitchen table, leg bouncing, the cordless phone sitting clunkily in front of her. Her hand still held the back of it, white knuckled. She had a sheen of sweat on her forehead, her eyes were rimmed red. She'd been crying. She never cries.
"Woah, hey, what's up?" he immediately went into 'fix it' mode, his innate need to emotionally regulate was sometimes for the better.
"Um, my ex called me," she said, eyes fixed on the grain of the small table, "He wants to apologize."
"Um, my ex called me," she said, eyes fixed on the grain of the small table, "He wants to apologize."
"For?" Eddie asked, slowly, cautiously, taking a seat across from her.
"I think it's for twelve step or something," she shakes her head, "Can't imagine he actually thinks he did anything wrong."
"Is he an alcoholic?" he asked, trying not to sound too eager about finding out a new thing about her. He knew she'd had shitty boyfriends before, her feelings -- or better yet, lack of them -- made that clear.
"Was," she says, "I think he's been sober for a while now, he was when he called me a few years ago."
"He's called you before? Why didn't you say anything?"
"I don't know," she let's go of the phone like she's finally out of a trance, "Didn't seem like it was important enough to bother you about it."
"Why haven't you ever talked to me about him?" he asks softly. She gets up and puts the cordless phone back on the reciever in her tiny living room, a loaded sigh leaving her lips, concaving her chest.
"I don't know, babe," she shrugs, "I think I talked about him for too long."
The bar is stuffy when they get there. Normally she never asks his permission to do anything, but they had a big conversation about whether or not her and her ex could meet -- how he felt, if he was okay with it, what he needed to know. They agreed that he can sit by them and supervise from a short distance, he didn't want her to be by herself if she was so shaken up from just a phone call.
They sit at the bar, her around the corner end closest to the wall and him on the opposite side with a seat between them. She places her purse on it to wait for her ex to come around and Eddie orders for the both of them.
"Hey, can I get that pretty girl at the end of the bar something to calm her nerves? Tell her I sent it over." Eddie winks at her, exaggerated and goofy -- she waves him off with a blush and a laugh. His heart skips -- his girl.
The bartender puts the drink in front of her as he walks in. Eddie sees her entire demeanor stiffen. He almost laughed at how taken aback he was to see her like this -- suddenly smaller, the shine in her eyes a dulled black, posture straight, her smile meek. She pushes the drink away from her slowly while he makes his way over, sitting gruffly on the stool between them. He ignores Eddie, but of course he does -- he doesn't know who Eddie is, what he looks like. He's just some guy at the bar.
"Hey Len," she says quietly. He leans forward to hug her and she obliges, sweat forming on her forehead, color draining from her face. She doesn't look at Eddie while her head is over Len's shoulder, her eyes shut tightly while she takes him in. Eddie's jaw clenches when he looks him over -- she certainly has a type. Form fitting ripped jeans, dark wash. He's thin -- sinewy -- his Led Zepplin shirt clings slightly to his biceps when he crosses his arms as he sits down and waits for his diet Coke. His chains, and he has a lot, clink on his pants. His boots are steel toe. His hair is a long sheet of dark auburn, he's coated in freckles and a deep summer tan. His jewelry glints in the light shining through the dusty bar window, catching on his nose ring the most. He's pretty. Eddie gets why she was probably so taken by him to start -- he shifts in his seat, nursing his beer while he sketches in a small note pad, ears pricked and prickling.
"Hey, bunny," he coos back at her, "You look real nice."
"Thanks," she says softly, "You look good, you look healthy."
Eddie lets a puff of air out of his nose, biting the inside of his cheek when he hears it. Bunny. That's his nick name. That's what he calls her.
He listens to them talk, it's innocent catch up -- she barely touches her drink. He tenses when he watches Len lean in to listen to her, coasting his fingers down her forearm. Lingering soft touches here and there -- she never lets him touch her like that. He watches the way she looks at him, it’s a face he’s never seen before. Cautious, she swallows a lot. Eyes big and attentive, she nods at every word he says -- like she's at a sermon, everything out of his mouth is a prayer.
Eddie sketches her like this, pen dropping when Len scoots closer to her and his hand warmly cups her knee on her crossed legs. His thumb slides over part of her thigh, palm moving upward. It's like he's watching from underwater, hearing Len's garbled muffled words -- something like 'Since I know how much you like having your legs touched.'
"I have a boyfriend," she says, "I told you. That's not why I'm here."
"Heh," Len chuckles dryly, leaning back on his barstool, arms crossing, "You assume a lot about how much I wanna fuck you."
The sentence even stings Ed, he swallows when he hears her soft 'Oh...I was just -- sorry.' The conversation gets a little tense after that, it hurts him to hear her explain her side of things. She's walking on eggshells, her voice soft and apologetic, pleading -- he's never heard her talk like this before. So soft spoken. So...tamed.
"Yeah, no, we've been together for five years he's -- he's really great," she says to him, shrinking into herself, ripping at the raw, peeled hang nails around her thumbs. Ed always knocks her hands when she does that, wrapping them up in his, giving her something else to play with so she doesn't keep breaking the skin.
"I don't need to hear about your boyfriend, bunny," his voice is stiff when he says it, "Surprised there's someone else willing to put up with all your bullshit."
"Well that's not really a fair thing to say," she says curtly, finally getting some fight back in her, "I wasn't the one coming in and out of our relationship all the time. That was you."
"Because I was sick. Do you hear yourself?" he speaks calmly to her, soothing, like he's explaining to her how the world works, "That's so like you, to make it about yourself. You're always finding ways to make me a bad person when I reached out to you to apologize."
He speaks to her in riddles, in sentences that sort of make sense but not all the way. The kind where you have to replay them in your head a few times to make them make sense and even then, they’re a little skewed. He does it on purpose — it throws her off and makes her nervous. She stutters and squirms just so he can catch her in a lie that he fabricated to begin with. Desperate to convince her that she’s bad. His arms are crossed when he speaks to her, he’s not yelling — he looks like he’s trying to convince her of something. Eyebrows raised every time he finishes a sentence, nodding so that she’ll nod too. Eddie’s grip is so tight on his pen he’s surprised he hasn’t broken it. He doesn’t even know what they’re talking about, but her voice breaks and it takes everything in him to not intervene. Red hazes over his vision while she desperately advocates and apologizes for herself.
“Do you even know what you’re apologizing for? Or are you just saying sorry to say it?” Len asks pointedly.
“I — Len, please — please stop,” she sobs out quietly, “I’m sorry for — for —”
“And of course you’re crying,” he says with a bitter smile, “Should I call everyone over so everyone can see what an awful guy I am? Look what I did everyone! Look! She’s crying!”
“Stop, Len. I'm sorry -- I'll stop," her voice raised slightly, furiouslt wiping her eyes, breathe rattling to steady herself, “Stop it.”
“Don’t yell,” he says sharply, leaning into her space, “If you’re gonna cause a scene I’ll call the fucking cops. You’re acting insane. I'm having a normal measured conversation with you -- why can't you ever be a fucking adult about anything? You're so dramatic.”
Tears well up in Eddie’s eyes while he listens, finally understanding why she never cries. He swallows thickly, his hand twitches, but he remembers what she said before they left, ‘Don’t intervene. I’m probably gonna cry, you’re gonna wanna get involved — just don’t. It’ll make it worse.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he watches her mouth form the words at Len, a shell of herself while he continues to kindly berate her. She nods, taking every emotional punch like she's grateful for it.
'You're right, I should've listened better.'
'I'm sorry, I should've been paying more attention.'
'No, you're right, you're right. I know.'
He can tell she's just trying to appease him, this is how she talks when she doesn't wanna fight anymore. Isn’t Len supposed to be apologizing to her?
Eddie watches her search for him, tears welling in her eyes again while they make brief eye contact before Len's hand reaches up to grab her chin to make her face him.
‘Do I need to talk to you like a child?’
Oh.
Absolutely not.
Ed closes his notepad, shaking his head, "That's enough."
He hops off the barstool, walking around Len over to her, taking her hand, "Let's go baby, you've heard enough. I think this talk is over."
She shoots him a look, terrified but obedient, collecting her purse and getting off the bar stool with shuddering breaths. The bar spins around her, body numb, chest a mess of pins and needles.
“You’re kidding? You had your boyfriend spy on us the whole time?” he laughs, “Of course you wanted to start a whole scene, it has to be about you, doesn't it?”
"If my buddy didn't work at this bar, I'd start a real big fucking scene pal," Eddie barks -- chest puffed, head held high and tilted. Len follows suit and it makes her shrink behind her boyfriend who has no intentions of letting up.
"So if you wouldn't mind, y'know -- " Ed smiles tightly, "Fucking off and out of the way so I can take my girl home, that'd be great."
Len backs off, demeanor fading back into soft and understanding. He turns his attention to her, "You've always been my best girl, bunny. I'm glad you found someone who cares about you so much. Hope he knows how lucky he is."
He nods at Eddie, curt and tight, tossing some cash on the bar and walking out. Eddie's face quirks into confusion but her grip tightens on his hand. Her heart pounds, and new crop of tears threatens to rip through her at the sentiment -- because that was so nice. Maybe she really just wasn't listening well enough to him. Maybe he really is right. Maybe she does always make it about herself. Maybe she is bad. Maybe she's the issue, maybe she made it all up.
The scent of leather and cigarettes hits her nose and the slam of the van door jolts her out of her thoughts. She doesn't remember leaving the bar. She's heaving. Because what if everything Len said was true? What if everyone really is tired of her bullshit?
"You're okay, baby. I'm here, s'just me," Eddie says, pressing his forehead firmly against hers. He's caging her in against the side of the van, thumbs pressed into her cheeks, "C'mon take a deep breath with me."
She hears him take a sharp inhale through the nose and she follows suit, the van fills with the sound of her snotty breathing.
"Hold it, hold it," he mutters, keeping the breath in for a few seconds, "And let it alllll out, good. Good."
"One more time for me," he whispers, her body shaking with each rough and cracked sob bubbling up and out of her chest. They breathe together again and it quells her for a minute before her shoulders shake. Her face crumples, heat rushing to her cheeks when she starts to cry again -- broken, inconsolable. Deep, guttural sobs pouring out from her chest -- she sounds terrified. He pulls her to him, arms wrapping tight around her, hard enough that she feel him -- that she feels safe. He presses her face into the crook of his neck, feeling her tears stain his skin and the collar of his shirt.
"I've never heard you cry like this," he murmurs into her hair, his eyes welling up with tears at her broken sobs, "He hurt you really bad, huh baby?"
He lets her cry it out on his shoulder, soothing her, rocking her, singing to her, running his fingers gently over the back of her arms, the back of her neck, over her spine. When he hears the final, deep, shaky breath -- a sound he's heard so often when she stops herself from crying in general -- he knows she's done. She looks up at him, wiping her eyes, puffy and red, mascara in gray streaks down her face.
He presses a kiss to her forehead, "You need some water?"
She nods, sitting up and back on the seat while he rifles through old McDonald's wrappers and plastic bags. He finds a half filled bottle of Poland Spring only to open it and be met with the sharp sting of vodka.
"Fuck," he mutters, "Um..."
"S'okay," she sniffles, climbing up into the passengers seat.
"We'll stop on the way home," he offers gently, "That okay?"
She nods and looks at him while he climbs into the drivers seat, "Can we go to yours?"
"Sure, honey -- you don't wanna go to yours?"
"He knows where I live," she confesses, "And he's mad so I don't -- I don't want him to start another fight."
He knows what she means. She doesn't want that asshole to show up looking for her. In his side view mirror he can see him sitting in his beat up truck across the street, tossing a cigarette out the window and lighting up another. He's waiting them out.
"Sit tight, I'll run inside and see if they have any waters I can grab," he says with a pat on her thigh.
"Don't you get out of this van now, y'hear?" he twangs the sentence like a cowboy and a smile breaks across her face.
"You're so stupid," she croaks, "But wait, wait --"
He looks back from the open door.
"I know what you're doing, and I know you wanna go say something to him but just -- please don't. Don't start something," she pleads.
"M'just gonna tell him to go home, baby," he says softly, "Look how upset he's making you."
"Whatever you do or say to him, no matter what it is, it will become my fault -- so please, please let's just go back to your place, okay?" she begs, "Let's just be done."
He tosses a look over to Len in his shitty truck and takes a deep breath. He looks back at her and nods, "Fine."
After a quick stop at the store and the many, many, many, times she looked in the side view mirror to make sure Len wasn't following them they made it back to Ed's trailer unscathed. He keeps her close to him, the closest she's been in a while -- draped over his chest while they both lay on the couch covered in an old crocheted blanket his Uncle Wayne passed down to him. The TV and radio are off -- they lay there occupied by eachother's breathing.
He toys with her fingers, taking his rings off and sliding them onto hers, then back onto his, "That was really brave, y'know? M'proud of you."
"I cried and had to have my boyfriend come save me," she retorts.
"Stop," he says, "Stop doing that."
"You always...I don't know, you never let yourself just have an accomplishment," he doesn't mean to sound like he's admonishing her, but it comes off that way.
"You never let yourself be proud -- don't you know how good you are?"
His eyes search for any recognition of understanding in her face but it doesn't come. She looks confused, afraid.
"You're so good," he confesses, looking up at the ceiling, "You're the fuckin' best."
"Thanks," she says quietly, looking past him to study the weaving pattern on the couch cushions. She's half there, half gone. Somewhere between being in the trailer with him and still stuck on her barstool. Still stuck in her teens and early twenties. Still stuck being screamed at on the sidewalk, getting phone calls at four in the morning, stuck in the waiting room of a hospital when every attempt at his life feels like the last.
"What're you thinkin' about?" he asks, backs of his fingers brushing over her temple, "Talk to me."
"What if I'm not good?" she asks, voice catching in her throat.
"No, no, you --"
"But what if I'm not?" she repeats, "Ed I -- everything he did -- "
"I do that to you."
He doesn't say anything for a minute. He knows she's not like him but it doesn't erase the ways she's hurt him before. The push and pull, the give and take. The constant tenseness, biting sarcasm. The nights he'd flinch when she'd slam the phone down on him. The nights he'd replay the sentences she said to make sense of them.
And he did it to her, too. Revenge, he guesses, for the times she's done it to him. Their fight at the diner in the winter, the guilt trips, the way he'll stare her down until she gives up on a fight.
"You're not like him, bun," he says, shaking his head, "You're like you."
"Maybe," he starts, shifting on the couch so he lays next to her, noses touching, "Maybe we need to be a little better at talking about what we need, hm? 'Cause I think you went a long time without someone asking. Maybe I need to be better at asking."
"I don't need anything," she says, eyes catching a stitch of fear -- like she got caught in a lie, "I got it."
He smiles defeatedly at her, "Baby, you do. There are things that you need."
"No, I'm okay, I promise," she begs, "I don't."
He sighs, not wanting to press it. Right now this was enough, having her close to him. Knowing she needs him. At least for right now.
"I don't wanna be like him to you, Ed," she says, nestling back against his chest, "I wanna be better."
He hums, arms finding his way around her again before they fall asleep. Later that night, they don't fuck like they usually do, no. He makes love to her, slow and deliberate, both of them teary eyed and clinging to each other. He'd never had her to vulnerable under him -- he would bottle it if he could, this version of her. So open, so soft, so different than what he's had for some time.
“You know why I love making you feel good?" he asks, panting and sweaty, pressed against her under the covers. She looks up at him, her eyes answer for her 'why?', glassy and wet with feelings she had left over from the afternoon.
"You deserve it."
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